Keep Away
by Kay the Cricketed
Summary: Sven x Ecki, "Guys and Balls" film. After the game, things settle into as normal as they can be when your entire life has changed.


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Keep Away

By Kay

Disclaimer: I don't own this film or the characters in it. . No one probably cares.

Author's Notes: Based off of the German film "Guys and Balls," also known as just "Balls" in some regions. XD No one has probably ever seen it. No one has probably ever written fic for it. I am a dork. But maybe someday, someone will read this and go, omg, someone liked the film enough to do that. Of course, it is Sven x Ecki! Enjoy!

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**I.**

The nurses on late shift get used to seeing Ecki. At first they tolerate him because of his sister, and then they talk to him because of Sven, and then they like him because he is Ecki and there is something about the shy corner of his grin that puts them in a fuss. Sven teases him about losing his status as golden boy of the ward. Ecki still has no idea what he's talking about. He wants to tell Sven that could never happen because Sven is—he's so much that Ecki can't put into words, confident and secure in his place in the world in a way Ecki could never be, and beautiful, too, all long limbs and wide smile and that tattoo on his back that's hidden under scrubs. Sven is the definition of golden boy.

Sometimes it's hard to believe his good fortune.

Ecki is clumsy and a little stupid. He plays soccer, he'll never "get" sushi or medical ethics. When he's next to Sven, he's torn between feeling elated at being there and awkward because he really shouldn't be. Ecki is just… a country boy, really. A baker's son, and stubborn to boot. Nothing compared to Sven's easy-going and sociable nature; the way Sven gathers people is a talent left for leaders, not for those going-into-gynecology-except-not. He belongs in this place.

The only reason Ecki fits in Dortmund is because he forces himself in and refuses to leave until it's accepted him with open arms.

**II.**

Sven loves how Ecki is all of these things, all of that and the smell of grass, sweat, and freshly baked bread. He could inhale Ecki's scent for hours. The first time he'd seen Ecki in an apron, they both ended up covered in more flour than the bread, and Sven had pressed Ecki into the table and felt his heart stick tight inside of his throat because nothing was better than putting his fingers into those curls and _knotting_. Nothing except maybe Ecki's nails digging into his shoulder blades and his mouth hot against Sven's, throat stretched up in trust. Sven had left long streaks of flour around his hips, up his chest, down his thighs, in his hair—everywhere light could touch, so did Sven.

He can't keep his hands off Ecki on the worst of days.

Something about Ecki is honest. Good. He's somehow still very much a boy, but Sven sees it sometimes—the man he's going to become. Sven loves them both, he finds, although for different reasons. They cannot exist without each other and so Ecki will never be split, only grown.

He makes Sven want to believe in the impossible. He's disarming, not always for his own good, and too determined to let anything get in his way. Sven would've never been able to say no to Ecki's team of gay soccer players. One look at the hard, ready-for-humiliation expression on Ecki's face and he'd been unable to turn it down, because that would mean keeping that look there, and Ecki wouldn't have stopped, anyway, just kept bulldozing into random homosexual-friendly bars and Sven's head at the strangest hours of night, right up until Sven would've wished he'd said yes, said please, anything, just let me see those bright eyes again and god, let me touch you.

Life without Ecki was fun. Life with Ecki being a fool was miserable. Life with Ecki being Ecki is something close to or beyond wonderful.

**III.**

After the game, Ecki had pushed Sven into a locker and kissed him. They were exhausted and dirty, muscles shaking from effort and excitement, and the guys had whistled and made noises and said, "When we said get a room, we didn't mean a locker room! Oh, but don't let us stop you."

Sven said something, muffled into Ecki's throat, at them.

Ecki hadn't minded their tender amusement. He wakes up often, though, at night from dreams. Trapped between the line of the bench unforgiving against his spine, and above him, pressed stomach to stomach and not quite knees to knees—

He doesn't tell Sven about what he dreams. It's too embarrassing. He has the feeling Sven would tease him for a soccer obsession, anyway.

**VI.**

Sven sometimes dreams about fucking Ecki in the locker room.

He's not going to share. He has the feeling Ecki would laugh at him, and besides, there is such a thing as being too obsessed with soccer.

**V.**

They take it slow. Dinner with Ecki's parents after a week or so, long enough for Ecki to get his dad to warm up to the idea. Sven comes over when he can, but more often than not it's Ecki who makes the trip to barge in on Sven's night shifts. They watch the babies sleep and Sven tells Ecki about the latest maternity fiasco. Ecki renames half the children, usually after obscure soccer player, based on how their feet are shaped or the squashed quality of a nose.

While they're perched on the viewing window sill to the nursery room, Sven bumps Ecki's shin with his foot. They hold hands if it's a little cold.

If Sven's busy, Ecki sits on a cabinet and swings his legs, or he goes out to find his sister or a random nurse who will talk to him until Sven isn't so tied up. He's grown to like the quiet of the hospital—its dim corridors, soft lights, and tiny murmurs from people beyond doorways. His sister teases him about the irony of a gay man spending most of his time in a maternity ward. Ecki thinks that, rather than ironic, it should be a little sad. Except he's there for Sven and that means everything is okay.

They take the broken elevator. A lot.

**VI.**

Practice is on Sundays. Usually the guys can make it, unless Jan needs a weekend with his father (of course, sometimes he comes to practice anyway and cheers from the sidelines) or it rains. Then they take a drink in the bar and their self-appointed coach berates their terrible footwork. And then they try to get Jürgen a boyfriend.

They ask Ecki when their next game will be. Ecki, who had never thought about it, says, "Uh. Well, I suppose I'd better go see."

Sven helps him narrow down the choices. They spend an afternoon calling teams and crossing off names in a yellow paper notebook. Sven looks… amazing, in a way, with red marker stains on his hands and cheekbone.

**VII.**

"Come on, don't be mad."

"I'm not mad," says Sven. Ecki leans over and squeezes his hand, rubbing his thumb across the skin of Sven's palm.

"You are. I know that look on your face and I didn't even do nothing this time. At least, I think so?"

"Just leave it, all right?"

"I don't think so. Was it a rotten day at work or something?" When Sven says nothing, Ecki makes an "ah" noise. "Okay, I know what to do. I happen to have learned a very handy technique to quell anger or, if necessary, labor pains." He flashes a grin that makes his eyes crinkle and Sven, against his will, finds himself watching. "Breathe with me, yeah? In and out. In and out."

Sven listens to Ecki fail miserably at Lasarme breathing exercises. His mouth twitches upwards just the smallest bit, against his will. When he can't take it anymore, he breaks and laughs, reaching out to smother Ecki's loud exhales. "You need more practice at that," he mutters. "You'll never be a good midwife assistant at this rate."

"So teach me," Ecki says, voice muffled and hot against Sven's fingers. When Sven removes his hand, he replaces it with something else, and then they don't talk at all.

(He does feel better, though.)

**VIII.**

His scrubs have _grass stains_ on them.

That should not even be remotely possible.

Ecki thinks it's hilarious.

**IX.**

Ecki's dad has gotten a lot better about the whole "gay" thing. He talks to Ecki again, like they used to—after Gerd gets used to the fact that not everything is going to offend Ecki or, worse, change now.

Ecki for his part has missed this. The closeness, the mornings spent rolling dough and chatting about soccer, news, and cake recipes. This place, for all its hang-ups and prejudices, is his home. His grandfather ran this shop and Ecki plans to do the same. Soccer is where his spirit is, but baking is where his heart is.

Sometimes his dad even asks how Sven is. Ecki does his best not to talk too much—but it's hard not to tell Gerd everything (that Sven recently applied to a really good program and he's a shoe-in, that they celebrated Ecki's first success with chopsticks the other night, that Sven makes his heart pound more than sports, that Sven mouths the back of Ecki's neck like it's something to be worshipped instead of hidden by his wild mop). Usually he settles for: "He's doing well."

There are some things he'll never be able to share with his dad now. That makes Ecki feel pained. But now, they stand on equal ground and he knows he's loved.

**X.**

Sven, over time, manages to convey most of his life to Ecki in bits and pieces, conversations and questions and accidents. The ex-boyfriend he avoids. The first time he went to a doctor and realized that's sort of what he wanted to do, but not quite. He's very close to his aunt. Sketching is one of those things he likes to do when he's got time on the weekends and enough graphite to spare.

"What, so you could draw me?" Ecki inquires, impressed. Sven smiles and shakes his head.

"I do landscapes. Still life. That."

"Oh. Can I see?"

"Sure." Of course, you can see all of me you want, Sven wants to say. But it's a little nerve-wracking to realize it's true. "Next time, I'll bring my sketchbook."

"What sort of landscape do you draw?"

"Trees. Things lying about in my apartment. The park." It's hard to concentrate when Ecki gets this expression—intent, like Sven is his entire world and something to be awed by, like he's never been happier than to be with this person. It drives Sven mad. He wants to—so much, he just wants, the curve of Ecki's jaw and the strength of his pulse must be equally maddening—

"Why?" asks Ecki, and Sven makes himself look away so he can remember the conversation.

"It's calming. It gives my hands something to do while my mind wanders," he says. "It gives me time to find myself."

Ecki, when he speaks, does so softly. "Oh. So that's where you were."

**XI.**

Ecki feels a surge of gratified superiority whenever he sees Udo.

He tells him, too, that his boyfriend is doing great. The guys can't wait to play again, would Udo be interested? (Aha, Ecki has learned the fine art of double innuendo, see? Would Udo be interested? Ha, take that! He owes Tom a great deal, but is afraid to repay the favor in case it involves leather and studs.)

Udo scowls and pushes past him every time. After a while, sick of being ignored and sicker of having no friends in town, Ecki stops him and asks, "D'you want to get a drink?"

"I'm not queer," snarls Udo, and suddenly Ecki feels a bit weird. He tilts his head and understands, for once, and that makes him feel sorry.

"Not like that—just as friends."

Udo walks away again. But next time, he nods to Ecki and that's good enough for now.

**XII.**

They know it's going farther than they'd intended when Ecki lets out an uncharacteristic, shuddering keen and buries his nose into Sven's shoulder.

"Ecki?" Sven has to make himself still. His breathing is far too loud in his ears, his body flushed and god, the wanting doesn't abate, it just gets worse. Ecki had been sandwiched between the elevator wall and himself, gravitating more towards Sven unconsciously, but now Sven realizes it's not just kissing and touching and straining anymore. The light flashes on and off above them, and Ecki's arms are like an iron band wound about his torso and ah, he hadn't even processed his own fingers as they slid beneath the waistline of Ecki's jeans and—

Ecki moans. It's suddenly and obscenely loud.

(They're in a public place, technically. The door could—he shouldn't—)

"I want you," gasps Ecki, just like before. Sven couldn't deny him then and he can't now, and they should talk about this but—

Sven half-growls, "You have no idea," and yanks at the button to Ecki's jeans.

**XIII.**

In the aftershocks, Ecki shakes a little, but Sven can't tell if that's because he's laughing or if it's the orgasm. It might be both.

Sven feels oddly empty for a moment. But then Ecki kisses his cheek, almost sweet, and he finds himself laughing, too.

"In the _elevator_," says Ecki, half-scandalized, and that makes Sven laugh even harder.

**XIV.**

Ecki refuses to believe David Beckham is gay.

Still, it doesn't hurt to cover his bases. After a while, they all get into the habit of blowing kisses at his poster as they exit the locker room. Good luck and all that.

**XV.**

For Sven's birthday, Ecki actually bakes him a cake (all right, his dad helps him because Ecki is terrible at cakes, but he frosts it). Sven doesn't especially like cake and says so, but then he leans over and digs a finger into the side and licks it, all slow-like. They take it back to Sven's place and watch old 50s movies, most of which Ecki's never heard of and the rest of which have actors that Sven can imitate flawlessly. They get popcorn in Ecki's hair. Not that it's hard.

Legs tangled on the sofa, movie still playing, he's never felt so at home in another person's house. Sven only chuckles when Ecki grabs him by the collar, but then Ecki drags Sven down on top of him and it's not funny anymore, just _is_, the both of them staring at each other with dark, heavy eyes.

"Happy birthday," says Ecki, swallowing his nerves. He's worried about… everything, really. Ecki's never had any idea of what he's doing; he just goes with it and hopes it will turn out like he hopes.

But with the way Sven touches him—so precise, so surely—it's hard to be worried about anything at all.

**XVI.**

Ecki likes to scruff up Sven's hair. It looks too perfect otherwise, that bit of curl at the bottom of its wave. It's no wonder all the women dote on him.

Sven keeps it straight just to annoy him, probably.

(The softest part at the base of Sven's skull is the best. Ecki could run his fingers through it for hours, combing out minor tangles and feeling each strand wedge underneath his nail bed. Sven falls asleep sometimes, like that.)

**XVII.**

"The point to being a goalie is to keep others away from you," says Ecki, drowsy from the rare bit of sunlight flooding into the apartment. He's sprawled on Sven more than the sofa. "You're a defender. Can't let anyone in. Maybe that's why it took so long for me to—figure things out, I guess. I was so busy playing keep away that I didn't even see what I was hiding."

Sven holds his hand. "That must make me a great kicker."

Ecki laughs, sincere and strong, and rests his forehead on Sven's ribs. "You're a great everything."

"Ecki," murmurs Sven.

"Yes?"

"Leave yourself wide open with me."

It's a lot to ask, but not nearly as much as it could be. Ecki shivers against him and then nods, curls scratchy against Sven's stomach.

"Okay," he says.

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_The End_


End file.
